


Ultra Numb

by Shadow15



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bottom Brock Rumlow, Consent Issues, Dysfunctional Relationships, HYDRA Trash Party, Honeypot Brock Rumlow, M/M, The Winter Soldier Cant Consent, Top Jack Rollins, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:55:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24231706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow15/pseuds/Shadow15
Summary: Being a honeypot wasn't something that Brock had thought he'd ever be, especially while leading his own STRIKE team, but life always had a way of fucking him around. Maybe Pierce just hated him more than he thought. Okay, a lot more than he thought, because with Captain America thawed and undertaking missions again, Brock finds that juggling a long-term relationship and trying not to let Jack find out about all the men that had plowed him in the name of HYDRA is much harder than it sounds in theory.Sometimes Brock has to wonder if he'd rather Jack to find out and kill him then and there just so he doesn't have to keep seeing Steve, because behind closed doors, Captain America is much different than the media had always portrayed him as.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes/Brock Rumlow, Steve Rogers/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	Ultra Numb

Brock’s hand wouldn’t stop shaking, and it made unlocking the door to his run-down apartment more difficult than it should have been. At least, he wanted to blame it on his tremors, but the wetness in his eyes he refused to let fall weren’t exactly helping, either. 

“Shit…” Brock winced when the keys slipped past his calloused fingers and hit the near-rotted floorboards beneath his feet with a somewhat quiet clang, but in his distressed state of mind, the sound was almost deafening. “Fuckin’ bastard…” 

Brock bent down to pick the keys back up, his knees creaking with unusual protest. His back straightened with lightning speed when a door to one of the apartments down the corridor opened. He blinked furiously in an attempt to clear up his tears and forced himself to glare down at the door handle to his apartment like it was the cause of all his misery, not willing to be seen in such a pathetic state. 

“Are you okay?” 

Brock flinched again when his neighbour, a younger woman perhaps in her early twenties, stopped and stared at him. He knew she likely looked at him with nothing but concern, but all he could see right now was her judging him, looking at him with pity and disgust and  _ knowing _ . His jaw was taut for several seconds before he whirled around and snapped, “I’m fuckin’  _ fine _ ! Piss off!” 

The apartment door was opened at Brock’s outburst, and a huge, rough hand reached out to yank Brock inside roughly by the shoulder. Brock pushed his way past, storming into the apartment to disappear into the bedroom and slam the door shut behind him, the flimsy lock twisting, even though he knew that if Jack really wanted to, he could break that lock within seconds. 

Jack, still standing in the doorway, nodded at their neighbour once before gently shutting the door; he always had been better at the whole  _ people  _ concept than Brock. 

In the bedroom, Brock tossed his bag carelessly into the corner before he began pacing, back and forth, back and forth until he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He froze on the spot, his eyes fixed on the bruising of his collarbone that was poking out past his STRIKE jacket collar. He hiccupped, raising a hand, transfixed, to touch it. 

What if Jack had seen that? Brock wouldn’t be able to handle it if Jack had. 

A soft sob escaped Brock as he hesitantly reached down to pull his jacket and shirt up and reveal his pale, otherwise  _ bruised  _ hips to the mirror. He felt like he was going to throw up at the unmistakable fingerprints that dug deep into his flesh and would probably bruise for weeks to come. 

Jack was going to find out. 

Brock dropped his clothing back into place and instead held his face in his hands to will away the brimming tears with everything he had. He couldn’t cry. Crying was pathetic, weak, and shameful. 

Crying was everything Brock was made of, anyway. 

A single tear rolled down Brock’s cheek as he backed himself towards the bed so he could drop himself into a sit on the edge of it. He shifted uncomfortably at the burn the action provided, hissing shamefully at the ghostly sensations he could still feel swishing about inside of him, despite the hour-long shower he had had before his return. 

Brock shuddered at the whiff of sex that assaulted his nostrils for a second so fleeting, he wondered if it had even been real. More tears followed the first. He could still smell his partner on him, and the second he noticed that, the smell became overbearing, and his stomach twisted painfully. 

His head started pounding, a furious  _ thump thump thump  _ that made him want to claw at his hair and dig his brains out if that would stop the ache. 

_ Knock knock  _

“You in there, Rums?” The jiggle of the door handle being tried had Brock snapping back into his body and becoming acutely aware that Jack was vastly perceptive and was no fool. 

But still, Brock’s face scrunched up in disdain, and after biting his lips hard enough to draw blood, he yelled. “Fuck off! Leave me ‘lone, asshole!” 

No verbal response came from Jack; only the heavy footfalls of his boots as he walked away. Brock couldn’t keep himself from crying now. He dragged the blankets up to hide his face in them, his body becoming too weak to hold itself up anymore, and all he could do was lay down and wrap himself in a cocoon of blankets as he tried desperately to fall asleep and forget everything that had happened. 

But unfortunately, peaceful sleep was something elusive and legendary in his line of work, and the nightmares continued to wake him, again and again as he slept by his lonesome without Jack’s warmth to comfort him. 


End file.
